


where the sins cry

by ameliajessica



Category: The Borgias
Genre: F/M, jealous!lucrezia is the best kind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-12
Updated: 2013-05-12
Packaged: 2017-12-11 16:31:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/800803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ameliajessica/pseuds/ameliajessica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I did learn a few things in France,” he confesses, hands moving higher to rest inside of her thighs, thumbs stroking dangerously close to the area between her legs. He presses a chaste kiss to the inside of her knee and then further along her leg.  </p><p>(Aka, the one where Cesare goes down on Lucrezia.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	where the sins cry

**Author's Note:**

> Written before 3x06 was leaked, based on the stills released from 3x06. Conceived solely because the fandom was egging me on. Thank you, you wonderful, twisted bastards. Title from 'Touch Me', Spring Awakening.

She senses his presence in her vicinity before he actually approaches her, the way she always has. Lucrezia detects a shift in the air and then he is at her back, breathing on her neck. Her shoulders sag in relief but she does not dare turn around, in case it will shatter everything.

There is something different about him. But then again, she supposes, there is something different about them now as well. "Lucrezia," he says quietly and her eyes fill inexplicably. There are suddenly a thousand things to tell him, as there always is when they spend time apart.

She grabs his hand to pull him closer to her. "Brother."

The soft exhale through his nose indicates his smile. They stand there completely still, as if making sure the other is truly there before Cesare shifts his weight from one foot to the other and bends his head to speak to her. "Could you get away tonight?" he murmurs, breath hot against her throat. She so many questions but realises it is not the time, and so swallows and nods instead.

“Come to my room when your husband is asleep.” He waits for her to nod again, and then is gone in an instant. She holds in the gasp that almost escapes her when he is no longer pressed against her back, pushes down the urge to whirl around and run after him. Lucrezia Borgia stands taller, looks across the square for her husband. Alfonso catches her eye, smiling at her immediately.

The one she returns is closer to a grimace.

 

* * *

 

Later Lucrezia slides carefully out from under the sheets, not glancing at the husband she is leaving in his bed. Their bed, she supposes. _No_ , she thinks sternly, _his_. There is a moment when she pauses, almost turns to look at Alfonso; sweet Alfonso who smiled whenever she walked into a room and kissed her as if she was made of glass. In that moment she considers what her life has become, what she has become, and wonders what is going to come next. She leaves.

One knock on her brother’s door is all it takes for him to pull her inside. Once she is in his room, he walks towards the bed. His bed – hers too, she supposes.

“I do not know if I was followed,” she admits. She finds herself nervous somehow, unable to determine why exactly. Her brother seems different, more serious. Lucrezia remembers the young boy dressed in red tackling her to the ground playfully, eyes still full of hope and love. _He has a spouse now_ , she realises. _We both do_.

“You were not,” he replies. He is removing his shirt, and part of her wonders if she’s meant to look away now. “Micheletto was told no-one should see you enter.”

“Ah.”

There is a moment of silence before he sighs, beckoning her to sit beside him with his open arms. She obliges, noting how his gaze never leaves her, drinking her up as she is drinking him. They say nothing. Leaning in, Lucrezia kisses his cheek slowly and his hand tightens on her hip.

“I have missed you sis,” he rasps, reaching to cup her face. The crack in his voice stirs her stomach and she rests her forehead against his.

“As have I,” she whispers. Their eyes close, breathing heavily. “As I always have. As I always will.”

“Lucrezia,” he sighs and for a wild, magical moment she thinks he will kiss her, feels him breathe out raggedly on her mouth, and is surprised at the ache she feels when he doesn’t. He pulls away but the tension in still there, the air still heavy.

Cesare smiles, standing. “How is Alfonso? I assume wedded bliss suits you nicely?”

Rolling her eyes, she sits up, folds her hands neatly in her lap. Cesare appears to find this amusing. “It’s fine, I suppose.”

“I’d expect it to be more than ‘fine’ with a husband who could bring you to ecstasy on his first time.”

Startled, she freezes, slowly looks up and scrutinises her brother. It was Cesare who had suggested forgetting about what had happened that night; the night that she could still remember perfectly behind her eyelids. The night she will later pinpoint as the shift in their relationship. Ridiculously, she feels anger rise in her. “And you brother,” she remarks dryly, “how have you found marriage?”

His face becomes fond, but he’s not looking at her and that bothers her more than should be allowed. “It was fine,” he says wistfully, but she senses it was more than just that. She does not like it.

“This coming from the man who allegedly consummated his own marriage eight times?” she says with mock surprise.

“I’ve forgotten how fast rumour travels in Rome,” he muses.

“Well, is it rumour if it’s true brother?”

Cesare’s reply is a simple chuckle and Lucrezia bristles, abruptly pacing the room.

“My,” she laughs  acidly, “I was not even aware a man’s stamina would allow for that.”

“There is more than one way to make love, sis,” he justifies, a wistful smirk pulling at his lips.

“Is that what you were busy learning in France, brother?” Animosity leaks out of her voice without her permission; she wants to be in control here but at the thought of Cesare with someone her stomach seizes. “Well his Holiness will be pleased – finally a marriage where consummation is not an issue.”

There is a beat where Cesare just watches her, curious, and she feels a flush creep up her neck when he smiles more widely, appearing to be very content about something. “Do not tell me you are jealous, sister,” he teases.

“Jealous!” Lucrezia huffs incredulously, instantly whirling around to idly inspect the paintings on the walls, crossing her arms across her chest. “No brother,” she says pointedly, “I am not jealous.”

“Good.” The creaking of the bed springs indicate he is standing. “Because you have no reason to be.”

“Oh?” The back of his fingers ghost across her neck and she shivers.

Cesare takes away his hand, brushes the tip of his nose across to her ear, speaking directly there. “What was it you said before? ‘I shall never love a husband as I love you Cesare’?”

“Yes.” Her voice catches.

He inhales into her hair deeply, hands at her waist. “The feeling is mutual.”

Before she can react, Cesare turns her so that she faces him and then spins them again, gently guiding her to sit back on the bed. He kneels on the floor in front of her, massaging her calves.

“I did learn a few things in France,” he confesses, hands moving higher to rest inside of her thighs, thumbs stroking dangerously close to the area between her legs. He presses a chaste kiss to the inside of her knee and then further along her leg.

“What are you –,” she stops short when he kisses her again, this time where his thumb was before. She draws in a shuddered breath.

“Would you like me to show you, sis?” His eyes snap to hers.  Her brother, the great Cesare Borgia, is on his knees before her, regarding her through a hungry, half-lidded gaze .and she feels light-headed with power.

“Yes,” she murmurs, helping him but hitching her skirt to her stomach. A jolt of confused pleasure spikes through her as each of his kisses on her skin grow slower and slower. When he bites down gently, her legs quiver.

“Do you trust me, Lucrezia?” he asks, barely audible over her uneven breathing.

“Yes,” she blurts out, frustrated but still not understanding what he is doing, still confused as why he has put his mouth _there_ and why it feels so wonderful. It dawns on her that she doesn’t understand her brother as well anymore; what he wants, what he can give her, who he will be. Who _they_ will be. But his mouth is warm, and wet, and what she does know is that she will never – _never –_ love a husband as she loves him, “I do, so just get _on_ with it brother!”

She thinks perhaps he will laugh and tease her some more but instead he licks into her and her legs buck. His hands seek out and grab her arse to pull her closer. Lucrezia feels her back arch. Her body is still getting used to the sensation when she glances down at his dark head between her legs. She is not the first to have him in this way, she realises as envy rises in her, and fists her hand into his hair and _pulls_.

He comes up to meet her, glistening lips and broken breath escaping them, and she brings his mouth close to hers. “You are mine,” she snarls into it, revelling in the noises he is making, “do you understand?”

Nodding, he surges forward, kissing her, and she marvels at tasting what must be herself on him. As they break apart, she giggles to see him groan at the loss, his head having instinctively followed hers as she had backed away. This time he pushes her down, her back now on the bed, and dives down to her cunt again, rougher, more desperate, than before.

Both her hands tangle in his hair firmly and she wraps her legs around his shoulders, rocking her body in time with him before she can think about what she is doing. It is a mixture of feeling helpless against his mouth and at the same time knowing she is totally, utterly in control. Cesare, the prince of Rome, kneels to make her happy. _As he should_ , she thinks drowsy and drunk, and comes.

Her hands fumble, grasping lower at his neck in at attempt to bring him closer, her legs tightening around his body. He keeps kissing her sweetly as she rides out her orgasm, crying out his name.

When the world becomes focused once more, she tries to sit up but finds herself too drained and flops back down, arms above her head. Cesare moves to lie beside her, one hand on her belly. He looks incredibly pleased with himself.

“God bless the French,” she says hoarsely. Cesare laughs into her hair, one hand lazily cupping her breast.

Clearing her throat, she turns so onto her side, watching him take her in shamelessly. Summoning more energy, she moves to straddle his hips. “Tell me brother,” she murmurs, pushing down slyly to elicit a sharp gaps from her brother. Lucrezia leans down, lips parted against his, pressing one hand on his chest to then rake it down his body, “how do the French ladies give pleasure?”

**Author's Note:**

> If you guessed that Cesare is totally getting a blowjob after you would be 100% correct.


End file.
